world crumbling beneath our weary feet
by winteredspark
Summary: /Ginny turns, her eyes flying wide open. She opens her mouth to scream, but a black, gloved hand swoops up and covers her mouth./ Or, what happened after.
1. Prologue: Sides

**world crumbling beneath** _(our)_ **weary feet**

**::prologue::**

He hates himself for walking away.

Draco knows that he's never been very good with confrontation. He hates situations in which he is backed up against a wall without only a tiny breath of space between himself and an opposing force, because he always ends up saying something cowardly. Or, in other words, he declares things in such a way that would bring shame to his father's name.

* * *

><p><em>He's running on molten hot ground, the pavement shuddering beneath his polished shoes. Everything is falling apart - the castle is in shambles and he can hear the foreign mumblings of the giants, the screeching of the arachnids. Flames are licking up the tapestries, and for a moment he feels like a first year. <em>

_Draco Malfoy actually feels scared. _

_It's as if he's eleven years old again, and entering Hogwarts through the use of those blasted, leaking boats. It's as if he's dumbfounded, like it's all too good to be true. Except this time, he's eighteen years old, and the castle that has grown to become his - reluctant - home is crumbling to the ground._

* * *

><p>Now he hears his mother's voice calling him from the Dark Lord's ranks, and everyone's eyes are turning towards him. It's as if he's eleven years old again, wishing to hide behind his mother's skirts. Except this time he's standing at six feet, his chin covered with scrubble, and his blonde hair unruly. This time soot covers his ivory skin, and there's a cut under his mother's eye that is bleeding a trail down towards her neck.<p>

This time, he actually has to take a side.

"Draco." His mother is pleading with him, and as he looks at the blood on her face, Draco feels a spurt of rage.

Whoever dared to hurt her will pay. He will curse them into oblivion, kill them with the simple flick of his wrist. Normally he would hesitate, because as much as he tries to deny it, the idea of stealing someone's life sickens him. But this is his mother, and there is nothing he won't do to protect her.

* * *

><p><em>"Running away again?"<em>

_Her voice stops him, and he loathes the cold hate in it. She hates who he's become, and he deserves it. _

_"You wouldn't understand, Weasley." _

_He turns, and she's standing there on the top of the stairwell, her red hair a floppy mess about her freckled face, dirt surrounding those chestnut eyes. There's blood smeared on her arms, and Draco supposes he should be more concerned for her safety, but at this point he just wants to get away. _

_"At least I'm out there trying to help," Ginny spits, taking a step towards him. Of course she would take the first step; it's how she's always been, courageous, far too bold for her own good. _

_"No one asked you to," he tells her, and he wants to be angry, but he can't find the energy. "At least you have people that would mourn your death, Weasley. Potter would curse me the moment I stepped in his path, and my parents would never find my body. They'll be too busy running." _

_Ginny shakes her head, "I wouldn't cry if you died, Malfoy," typical Weasley, "but things would never be the same."_

_There's more crumbling sounds, and the roof begins to crack right above her. He's running forward before he can help himself and -_

* * *

><p>"Draco, let's go," his mother calls again.<p>

She's pretending to be so calm, but Draco can read the fear in her eyes as she glances nervously at his father, her husband. She knows as well as her son does what the penalty will be for all of them if he chooses to side with Hogwarts against the Dark Lord. There is no mercy for opposition, this they know.

The Dark Lord is studying him now with those narrowed eyes, and Draco's skin crawls uncomfortably.

He takes a hesitant step forwards, and a slow gasp rises up from the students surrounding him. Eyes fill with loathing, and girls whisper "I always knew he was a traitor" under their breath.

* * *

><p>- <em>he pushes her into the wall, then pushes her away before he can get her scent all over his clothing. <em>

_"See," Ginny breathes, "there is still good in you."  
><em>

_She looks as though she might want to touch him on the cheek, perhaps kiss him for his kind act, but he knows she won't. That's a line neither of them will ever cross, because she's always belonged to Potter, and Draco Malfoy will always be the cowardly nemesis. _

_"Go back to Potter," he snarls, backing away from her. _

_Her eyes light with anger, "So you won't stay and fight. Maybe if you'd stop being such a coward for once, maybe you would be more accepted. Maybe we could forgive you for everything you've done!"_

_Draco laughs, bitterly. _

_"I will never be forgiven," he says, and it's true. _

_Then he's gone, whipping his cloak over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway in the direction of the nearest broken window he can use to sneak out._

* * *

><p>"Good, Draco," the Dark Lord croons, pulling him into an embrace as he steps onto the opposing side.<p>

Draco can't move a muscle, is too afraid - or furious, this he can't determine - to do anything but stand there and accept that he'll always be the bad guy.

A tugging on his arm, and his parents are pulling him away, telling him it's time to go. His vision is blurring, but he manages to survay the remains of the castle, the burning remains, and wonder how anyone could destroy something that meant so much to him.

And that's when he sees her, and her expression is a punch in the gut.

He heard her scream when she saw Potter's dead body, but now she's not crying, just standing there with eyes full of pain. When her eyes meet his they darken even further and her lips press together. He can practically imagine her saying _"how could you do something like this, Draco?"_

It's like a punch in the gut, because he deserves it. She hates him, truly hates him, and he'll always deserve it. Ginny should know by now that he'll never change.

And with that thought in mind, he allows his parents to lead him away from the burning remains of Hogwarts.

He hates himself for walking away.

* * *

><p><strong>An: So, this is going to be multi-chaptered, because I haven't written Draco/Ginny in a long time, and I felt like it was time to uncover them. Anyways, I hope this was an adequate prologue, and I'll post more soon. **


	2. Part One: Addictions

**world crumbling beneath **_(our)_** weary feet **

**::part one::**

_Dearest Harry -_

That's as far as Ginny gets before the numbness steals over and leaves her mind as blank as a slate. She sits back in her chair and brushes a hand over the burned skin of her cheek absentmindedly; the sound of the door opening and closing still echoes from below - they've only just walked in - so unlike the cheerful creak of her own front door.

Because they aren't home.

After the war was over her family crowded on the ruins in the Great Hall in Hogwarts and just sat down, too numb to do anything else. Ginny remembers eyeing her fingers and wondering how on in Merlin's name they got so blackened, before remembering they were just in a terrible war. And, as if to prod their memories, Fred's body had laid right there in front of them, covered only by a shabby blanket. She remembers touching the black edges of the burn the killing spell had left on her brother's body, because it seemed so unreal.

And that's how Bill and Fleur found them, huddled together with blank expressions.

That's how the entire Weasley family ended up here, at Shell Cottage. Because The Burrow was little more than a pile of ashes, and they had nowhere else to go.

* * *

><p><em>"Ginny," Harry calls out tiredly, approaching her, "it's all over. He's dead. He's dead!" He sounds so relieved, so full of life. <em>

_She wants to slap the smile right off his face. _

_But, because he's the Chosen One and all, she sits back instead and looks around her, at the Great Hall, at blackened walls and hopeless faces. Her face probably looks much the same, because whenever she looks down at the body of her brother, it feels like nothing will ever be right again. _

_"That's great, Harry."_

_She smiles weakly up at him, trying desperately not to cry, but fails. A tear slides down her cheek and falls onto the floor. _

_"Ginny, what -" Harry starts to approach her, holding his arms out for a hug._

_She embraces him, not knowing what else to do. No one knows what to do; all she really knows is that she's no longer a child. No child should ever see what she had to see, watch the monstrosity, the merciless acts. _

_"It will never be over," she whispers into his chest._

* * *

><p><em>I need to talk to you - I mean, I need you, well - <em>

With a growl of frustration, Ginny heaves the quill across the room. Taking the paper, she shoves it in a drawer and closes her eyes. She has to calm down before she writes some sappy love note to Harry, before she makes herself sound like she's lost without him.

Although, since the war three nights ago, she feels as if she's changed. Not lost herself exactly, but lost carefree part of herself that could go through life ignoring the catastrophies Death Eaters caused, ignoring the growing panic.

Ginny wonders if this is how Malfoy feels.

And there she goes, bringing up the boy she swore she'd forget the second he joined the Dark Lord's ranks, the second he walked away with his parents. The second he proved himself to be nothing but a slimy coward, something she'd tried to see past, but could only really face.

And yet she knows that there's something _good_ -

"Ginny."

A tap on her door, and Ginny turns, relieved to be interuppted.

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

Bill shakes his head and steps closer, "Where did my carefree little sister go?" He smiles and glances out the window, out at the expanse of ocean and sky. "Everything's fine. Mum's cooking up a storm, and the clock is up on the wall again."

"The clock?" It takes a second. "Are all the hands still pointed to _mortal peril_?" She gathers her hair up in one hand, messing with it; anything to break up the tension.

Bill shrugs, then motions her towards the door, "Why don't you come and see? Stop locking yourself up here."

"I am not locking myself up here," Ginny objects, pushing past him in the doorway and taking the two shallow steps leading to the main room of the house. The layout of Shell Cottage is a far cry from the Burrow, and she has to get used to the fact that she doesn't have to climb three floors worth of stairs to get to her room. Of course, while it's not as much of a strain on her legs, she now can't use the excuse that she can't hear her mum hollering from the kitchen.

The clock is on the wall adjacent to the kitchen, and all of the hands are pointed in the middle of nothing. Ginny almost has to laugh at how accurate it actually is, before she notices that the hand with Fred's face on it is now blank and rusted, hanging on a nail beside the clock.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Ginny jokes, "Well, at least they're not pointed at mortal peril anymore." It's weak, but an attempt.

Bill laughs, then his eyes widen as he takes in the kitchen, "Bloody hell."

Ginny takes one look at the kitchen and snorts, then bursting out in laughter. Pastries of every kind cover the table and counters, accompanied by plates of sweets and glasses of pumpkin juice. It looks like someone opened a Chocolate Paradise box (one of her brothers' various creations she helped to sample.) Molly Weasley is waving her wand in the air over a bowl full of something that looks like fudge, mumbling under her breath.

"Mum," Ginny begins, about to say that someone had a sweet addiction.

She cuts off as she sees her mom's eyes. Sadness, hopelessness, determination, it's all there. Ginny feels her breath hitch; for a second it's like Fred is dancing in her mum's eyes with that rash smile of his, but then he's gone. It's all just memories now.

* * *

><p>"It feels good to be home."<p>

His mother's voice is filled with relief. Draco hasn't seen her like this for years; ever since his father came home from the graveyard with blood on his face and robes, saying that the Dark Lord had returned and Harry Potter had escaped his clutches, nothing had been the same. Narcissa had pleaded with Lucius, and eventually the latter had given in. They had trained all of their - most trusted, if they really ever trusted anyone - servants to use wands, bought them from Ollivander before the man was captured and tortured by the Dark Lord. Dark purple drapes had been drawn across the windows to keep anyone from looking in, and all of the doors had been protected with half a dozen spells from _La Acerbus Magica_ (an old Latin book referencing Old Magic.)

"Good?" Lucius' voice sounds hoarse. "Narcissa, the magical realm as we know it is about to change forever. The Dark Lord has been defeated by Harry Potter. We shall all be rooted out and killed by the Order!" He runs a sweaty hand over his face, trying to claw back the color.

Draco takes two steps up the grand staircase now overthrown with shadows and dust. He doesn't dare speak, knowing it will only drive his father into madness.

"Lucius," Narcissa croons, walking towards him with head tiled. She still acts like royalty, even when their lives are in danger.

A moment, and Draco ducks his head away as his parents kiss. They don't often act romantically around each other, even when it is just the family at home. His father would insist that "there are too many people ready to nose their way into our business," but it's just the way they are. It's actually nice, considering Draco doesn't want to walk into his parents getting it on while writhing on a granite table-top.

"Floo some of the others," his mother continues, her voice icy calm, "and find out who is left standing. There is no need to panic before he know the true odds. And Draco -" She turns to her son, her dark eyes flickering. He wishes he could read her better.

"Yes, Mother?" Draco asks, straightening his posture without thinking about it.

Narcissa smiles, trying to appear as though they have no troubles, "Perhaps Pansy would like it if you'd spend the summer with her at her vacation home in Paris. You haven't visited her in quite some time." His mother is always trying to set the two of them up; she firmly believes they'll have a wedding fit for a king someday.

"I will pursue it," Draco says, his voice dripping with sarcasm he hopes she doesn't detect. He has no intentions of contacting Pansy Parkinson, not after everything that has happened. After all, he never claimed to be a masochist.

With that, he heads slowly up the stairs, his heart pounding against his rib-cage. His father's words echo in his mind - _"We shall all be rooted out and killed by the Order!"_ - and he thinks of the broom propped up against his wall, untouched for months, of the fireplace with the glass vial of Floo Powder. It would be so easy to vanish, and he would make sure he was undetectable; there would be no chances of his parents hunting him down and beating him within an inch of his life.

He thinks of Weasley, of the hatred in her eyes as he ran away. His heart throbs.

_Not yet. _

_Soon._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeah, this chapter is slow. The first few always are, because I have to set everything up. I'd like to keep pursuing this, but I want honest opinions about this. Do you like it? If so...why?**


	3. Part Two: Death & Rebirth

**world crumbling beneath **_(our)_** weary feet**

**::part two::**

Smoke, fire; it's everywhere, and Ginny nearly chokes on the bitter scent of fumes.

"It's what Fred would have wanted," George mumbles from beside her. He fidgets with his spotted purple and orange tie nervously - he hates the things, just like Fred did - and Ginny half expects water to come spurting from the tip. It _would_ be something the twins would come up with.

Ginny watches the flames consume her brother's body, her face turning pale.

"No," she says tightly, trying to muster a brave smile, "Fred would have wanted to go out with style." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her wand, stroking it lightly. It feels feeble under her fingertips, as though it can read her fragile mood.

Then she waves it in the air and fireworks explode over their heads.

Mum and Dad, who are kneeling beside the burning pyre, turn to watch smiling faces and jokes crackle and pop in the heavens. Tears begin to drip down Molly's face, and she falls into her husband's arms. Arthur is crying as well, but silently - Molly's screams make up for his muteness - and there is a huge smile on his face as he observes the fireworks.

He understands.

"You're a bloody genius, d'you know that, Gin?" George asks. He's smiling through the tears in his eyes, and Ginny grazes her fingers over the scar where one of his ears used to be, remembering the night that he lost it. She remembers Harry tripping through the doorway, his eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the blood covering George's face, and a sigh escapes her lips. She misses him so much.

"I just do what I can," Ginny says, voice quiet.

She allows George to pull her into a hug, and rests the back of her head on his chest. A minute later, Fleur excuses herself so that she can go make some of her famous tea, but Ginny knows it's really because she can't stand to watch Fred's body burn. Bill, playing his role as the good husband, follows her inside, catching her in a comforting embrace.

"I still can't believe he's dead," a voice says from behind George.

Ginny tears her gaze away from the crashing waves, squealing as she sees Hermione, "When did you guys get back?"

Hermione smiles, crossing her hands over her chest and hiding the lace on her white blouse. She's wearing a jean jacket on top of it with the bottom three buttons closed and the rest gaping open, and her dark jeans barely graze the ground. Her tennis shoes are coated in mud.

"It's just me," Hermione says at last, running a hand through her hair and pulling it out of its ponytail in the process.

"What?" Ginny pauses, half expecting Harry to jump out from behind the house.

"Ron and Harry aren't here," Hermione restates, her smile apologetic. "Harry needed a bit more time, and Ron offered to stay behind with him." Her tone is worried, but she touches her lips as she says the words.

"Oh," Ginny says, looking back at Fred's body. "They should have been here to see this." Her voice probably sounds accusatory, but the disappointment is clotting her throat and she can't control her frustration.

"I know." Hermione digs her hand into the satchel swinging by her side and pulls out a letter. "Ron wrote this for you. I had to spell-check it three times with how he was blundering along." She laughs as she holds it out and waits for Ginny to take it.

Ginny bites her lip as she takes the letter from her friend's hand, "You love my brother."

"I - I never said that," Hermione protests, her face turning bright pink. "But, if in the distant future Ron and I pursue something more than friendship, I wanted to know if -"

Ginny can't help but laugh, "Of course I'm okay with it. You're practically family already."

"Oh, Ginny." Hermione launches herself into the red-head's arms, probably to hide her blushing face more than anything. "Harry did say he missed you."

Ginny pulls back to study her friend's flushed face.

"You're a horrible liar," she says at last, her voice flat. Her fingers clench around the note, crumpling it. "In all the years that I've known him, Harry has never said anything remotely close to that, no matter how many times I try to show him that I love him."

Hermione brushes her bushy hair out of her face, frowning now, "You don't love him."

"I'm not a child anymore," Ginny growls, her temper fuming again. "You can't all treat me like I'm eleven years old forever, stuck in the Chamber of Secrets with Tom Riddle! For Merlin's sake, 'Mione, I'm watching my brother's corpse burn." She shivers at the memory, glancing involuntarily back at the flaming pyre.

With a sigh, Hermione touches her friend on the cheek, "I never said you were a child, Ginny." Her eyes watch Fred's body burn for a moment, misting over. "None of us are children anymore."

"Then why are you so against me loving Harry?" Ginny tries not to let the hurt leak through her voice, but fails. She knows that she really shouldn't be arguing with Hermione right now with her hormones so out of tune. The past week has rattled her so thoroughly that she'd probably be better off magically sealing her mouth shut.

"Because you don't know him." Hermione's tone is thoughtful, as though she's lecturing a student. "Give it time, Ginny. When Harry gets back, spend time getting to know who he really is; then, only then, can you say that you love him for who he is." She pulls back. "I have to be getting back."

"Hermione, dear, is that you?"

Molly Weasley limps over, her face a mess of dirt and tears. A smile tugs at her lips, however, at the sight of Hermione.

"Hello," Hermione greets the Weasley parents warmly, hugging Molly for a long bit. "I just came to visit. All three of us should be back in a matter of days."

"I have some sweets in the house," Molly offers. "Why don't I pack a basket for you to take back to the boys?"

"Excellent idea," Arthur says, hugging Hermione briefly. "Boost their spirits, sweets will."

Ginny doesn't know how anyone could resist her mother's face - those pleading brown eyes - at a time like this, and the defeat is apparent on Hermione's face.

"You are too kind," Hermione says, following them inside.

Ten minutes later she dis-apparates on the lawn, waving goodbye as she leaves them all again.

"Don't know what those boys would do without 'er," Arthur comments, wrapping an arm about his wife. "Shall we sit by the fire for a bit?" He leads Molly inside, consoling her as she begins to cry again.

"Gin, are you comin' in?" George asks, his face cast in shadows.

"Go ahead." Ginny starts walking towards the smoking pyre. "I'm going to sit out here for a bit." The look she gives her brother clearly implies that she wants to be alone.

The fire has died down considerably and now there are only a few sparks leaping up from the bottom. Ginny can barely make out the outline of one of Fred's hands; most of his body has been reduced to ash, so she conjures a pot and collects it all. The moment she touches the remaining hand, it falls apart in a puff of dust, and this too she sweeps into the pot. A lump grows in her throat as she plugs the top with a cork, then engraves Fred's full name on the outside of the jar with her wand.

"I half expect you to jump out laughing and saying this was all one of your new pranks," Ginny whispers, rubbing her arms as a cold wind picks up. It sends the water rippling in the ocean, and as the stars shine upon the waves, it creates a beautiful picture.

_"Locomoter." _Ginny's eyes glaze over with tears, but she continues to point her wand at the jug as it levitates towards the dark skies. Turning, she points her wand at the center of the sky, and the jug follows the path, traveling higher and higher until she can barely see it anymore. Finally, when she can't see the jug filled with Fred's ashes, she releases the spell, thankful she won't know where his remains fall.

With that, Ginny gets up and walks inside, silently toasting Fred in her mind as she gulps down a cup of hot cocoa.

* * *

><p>"Still can't believe that Snape's gone," Avery comments, propping his feet up on the table in the living room. The glass smudges under the heels of his boots and Narcissa winces.<p>

"The Dark Lord had his reasons," Lucius says through clenched teeth, ignoring the little noises that Narcissa is making as the ruffian scratches her priceless furniture. "He was one of the best, behind me."

Avery snorts, "You always _were_ full of yourself." Lucius' glare quickly makes him shut up.

Lucius has cleaned up a little, shaved the scraggly hair on his chin, but his eyes are redder than ever. An empty bottle sits on the table beside Avery's feet, the stench of brandy curling in the air.

"How many remain?" Lucius asks, his voice still cracked and broken.

"Besides me?" A quiet voice asks from the corner.

Barty Crouch Jr steps into the light of the fireplace, a menacing smirk abroad his pale lips. He's thinner than ever, the skin of his face tight and unnaturally white. His eyes wheel in their sockets and every few seconds his tongue darts out of his mouth, revealing its missing tip.

"You shouldn't have survived," Lucius says, his hand closing around the empty jug as though he means to take another sip. Narcissa's eyes are wide, her red lips pursed in a questioning _'o.'_

"How -" she breathes, the word barely audible.

"I have my ways," Barty says. "Let's just say I had someone on the inside. They managed to switch me out with some helpless bloke - a worthless muggle - who took the Dementor's Kiss for me, and I've been in hiding ever since." He grins, his eyes dark.

"Tell 'em what you found out," Avery says.

"There might be a way to bring back the Dark Lord." Barty crosses his arms as he surveys the expressions of the three facing him.

Around the corner, Draco Malfoy sinks into the shadows of the stairwell, his heart thundering as he hears those horrible words. The Dark Lord...bring him back? They are only just beginning to find peace, still starting every time the wind howls outside or the door groans; to bring back the Dark Lord would only result in destruction.

_No one_ will be safe, not even Death Eaters.

He creeps up the next flight of stairs and down the hall, bursting into his sitting room. A house-elf lets out a shriek and drops the little duster she's been carrying. He ignores her squeaking apologies, only pointing to the door. There are too _damn_ many house-elves; he has several dozen alone to cater to his needs, several dozen to listen in on every conversation he has.

The moment she's gone, he hurries into his private chamber, throwing a suitcase open on the bed and packing his things in a hurry. He has to be gone, _tonight_.

And he knows exactly where he has to go.

* * *

><p>Ginny curls her legs into a little ball as she sits on the cot Bill and Fleur have provided. There are only a few rooms in Shell Cottage: one that Bill and Fleur share, the kitchen, sitting room, and the other that Mum, Dad, George and Ginny share. The room isn't all that large - even after dragging away the desk and mirror on the left wall - and there certainly isn't enough space for three beds. So, after getting in a yelling match with George and Mum about who would take the other bed, Ginny ended up taking the cot on the floor.<p>

The cot itself isn't too uncomfortable; Mum did a couple spells and now it feels more like a huge mattress than anything, save the supporting frame underneath. There is a little pattern of dandelions running across the middle of the cot, and overall it's a pleasant little thing.

It's privacy that's an issue.

Twice now George has walked in on her changing, and every time she tries to do any little thing like read a book, Mum is breathing over her shoulder, asking _"what in Merlin's name are you reading, Gin? Would I like it?"_

It's enough to drive anyone loony.

Today, however, is the first time Ginny has been alone in the room. It's been about a week since they moved in, and before now Mum was too scared to leave the house for fear of Death Eaters attacking. She's still scared, but the pantry is getting steadily emptier - Fleur is in a bed, complaining that she didn't feel well, and thus is in no condition to go shopping. So, with George on one side, and Dad on the other, Molly Weasley ventured out and apparated to Muggle London to grab "a few necessaries," as she'd phrased it.

That leaves Fleur and Bill in one room, and Ginny alone in the other.

Reaching up to the mantel over the fire-place, Ginny pulls out the letter that Hermione gave her several days ago. She'd pushed it off, angry that it hadn't been Harry who'd owled her something, and then had forgotten about it when Mum decided that a spring cleaning was in order. They'd spent the past three days cleaning the whole house from top to bottom, banishing several odd little creatures from cabinets and discovering a lost house-elf stuffed up the chimney last Christmas.

Ron's handwriting is as atrocious as it has been for years, Ginny notes with a smile.

_Ginny,_

_I tried to get Harry to write, but he's been moping around the tent since we left, so I wrote instead. _

_There's been a lot of talk out here lately - we've been listening in on the radio. Most of it is speculation, but there's one particular theory we've been trying to figure out. Several people have been saying that there is a way to bring the Dark Lord back. We don't know how, so don't freak out. I don't think anyone knows quite how, really. I dunno._

_I'm sure it's just bats-and-bogeys. Everything else has been good; Hermione bought a bunch of stuff off one of the trolleys in a bus heading through London, and she fixed us a whole feast. Hermione's quite the cook, I'll tell ya. _

_But we're doing good, and I hope we're home soon. I've missed you, Gin-Gin. _

_-Ron_

The note is typical Ron: scatter-brained, full of tangents, and a whole paragraph on food and Hermione. The speculation about their being a way to bring back the Dark Lord catches her attention, but she figures it's "bats-and-bogeys," completely ridiculous.

Just then, there comes a cough from the fireplace.

Ginny turns, her eyes flying wide open. She opens her mouth to scream, but a black, gloved hand swoops up and covers her mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Curious at all to see what happens next?**


End file.
